Most Likely To

Chapter One.

I think I'm standing in piss.

Honestly, it's probably just soft drink, but something about the stench and stickiness against the bottoms of my sneakers makes me pretty damn suspicious. The bleachers are packed with people, and a sense of buzzing excitement has settled over the crowd of students. There must be some sort of shield around me, because I can't feel it.

I could list a dozen places I'd rather be on a Friday night than here, at a high school Lacrosse game, waiting in line to buy a hot dog. For starters, I'd rather be at home in bed, reading a book or watching Netflix. That might make me sound boring, but it's the truth. I'm only here because I have to live up to my reputation of being the best girlfriend. That's what I've been dubbed for the past two years in my cohort's end of year superlatives. Personally, I think I'd rather have won most likely to be president, or even most likely to write the next 'Harry Potter'.

I honestly have no idea if Sebastian would care if I didn't come to watch his games. I've never asked him, because it's always just been something I've done. When he transferred to Rosedale High School two years ago, he was instantly elevated to the ultimate level of popularity, maybe partly due to his sense of humour and contagious laugh, but more likely due to his excessive good looks.

I've always wondered why attractive people are almost always friends with other attractive people. Why does that happen? Do they compete with each other to become the most attractive, or do they just sit around and bask in each other's glory? I guess I'll never know, because really, I can't see myself ever getting to the level of hot to qualify entry into their friendship group.

The girl in front of me is taking forever to order her food. I'm not quite sure what's taking her so long, since she pretty much only has two options: a hot dog or hot chips. I stare at the back of her head, which actually involves me straining my neck to look up, since she towers over my 5"2 frame. Her long blonde hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, the dyed-pink ends brushing against the waistband of her jeans as she complains to the employee.

"I'm just asking you to please remove some of the mustard, there's way too much." Her voice is whiny, like a toddler begging to be brought down from her high chair.

"I'll have to make you a new one," the guy behind the counter says in a monotone voice. His greasy face is contorted into a smile, exposing crooked teeth. "Which will take another five minutes."

"That's fine!" The girl responds chirpily.

I must have let out an audible groan, because suddenly her hair is whipping around and she is staring down at me, her eyes wide with annoyance.

"Is something wrong?" she bites.

"Nothing at all." I spin around and leave the line in a huff, my converse squelching ominously each step I take. I have to hold back a gag.

At the bottom of the bleachers, I glance up, searching for a familiar face. The crowd is littered with students from the rival school, and the faces I do recognize aren't friendly ones. It's not the first time I've realized that besides Sebastian, I don't have a whole lot of friends.

I spot Ivan towards the top of the crowd; his face is lit up with laughter. He is completely surrounded by his new friends, and sitting right next to him is his boyfriend. I can see their intertwined hands all the way from where I'm standing. I consider pushing through the crowd to the top of the bleachers, smiling at Ivan and asking him how he's been. I imagine a version of the future that involves him actually returning my smile. But we haven't spoken in years, so I find a small gap in the first row and squeeze myself in to watch the game, pulling my coat tighter around my torso. The cold air bites at my exposed skin, but it doesn't seem to bother anyone else.